


fallen

by Sorah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorah/pseuds/Sorah
Summary: “And don’t get me wrong,” said God, knowing that Aziraphale wouldn’t debate on that, “it’s a good feeling and I might have chosen to put it in your heart from the beginning, and it might have been impossible for you not to feel it because it just wouldn’t happen any other way, but the other angels are making questions,” she continued to explain.“And making questions is all that takes,” concluded Aziraphale.“Exactly. So you have to fall.”





	1. Unicorn pajamas

_ “Aziraphale”  _ called the well known female voice in the middle of the night. Any creature who heard it would know, deep down their hearts, that this wasn’t a voice you could ignore. Mostly because it came from everywhere, and anyone would find it at least weird.

_ “Aziraphale,”  _ the voice insisted, upon actually being ignored, a little bit more insistently and just a slightly surprised to not have been heard.

“Yes?!” the angel woke up, sitting up straight on the bed where he had been sleeping for approximately six hours, meaning to wake up within two, which made his sleeping schedule very similar to any adult human being who dreamt of having a normal sleeping habit.

_ “You’ve been a good angel, Aziraphale,”  _ said the voice. But we all know that bosses don’t appear at any moment to tell you that you’re a good worker, so Aziraphale remained a bit hesitant.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Aziraphale, sleepy and trying his best not to let any fear escape through his voice, which he did with great inefficiency.

_ “However,” _ there was absolutely nothing good coming after a “however” if that comes after a compliment. Not one single time in the history of the world it happened to mean something good. “ _ I cannot let you go unpunished _ .”

“But I thought you said…”

“ _ I also said ‘however’,”  _ God reminded him, which made him clench his fists in fear.

“But if I’m a good angel…”

_ “And good angels don’t question God’s words. Although you’ve been a good angel exactly because you questioned my plan, which wasn’t my plan at all, and avoided that my creation was destroyed for a stupid war.” _

“So your plan was, indeed mysterious and…”

_ “Yeah, yah. Anyway, the other angels are starting to make questions and that cannot happen,”  _ said the voice, “ _ and they’re asking why you’re unpunished when you’ve disobeyed at least 284 of my wishes.” _

“They’ve been counting?” wondered Aziraphale.

_ “They cannot know the real plan, Aziraphale, or it will not work the way I planned. You must be punished for your deeds. You also did some other stuff that I really didn’t plan, and I looked the other way several times” _

“But if I accomplished your plan in the end, I hope my punishment is not that terrible, my lord,” he bargained, giving the almighty a scared smiled.

_ “It wouldn’t be, but then there was that thing with the demon Crowley, and that was like ‘yeah, I cannot let that stay that way, if he had just, you know, tried at least, but no, he went deep and now I have to do something about it’ so I’m gonna do something about it”  _ pondered the voice.

“You mean The Arrangement?” asked Aziraphale.

_ “I mean the feeling. If you had done just the arrangement, we’d be cool, I would talk to Metraton and be like ‘no it’s alright, we can forgive that, I’m a forgiving God, and they did well in the end, so isn’t what this is all about?” _

“It is, isn’t it? Doing well in the end is what this is all about,” agreed Aziraphale, really trying to grab onto any little chances he might have.

_ “But then you created feelings for the demon, and now I cannot trust that you’ll be doing the ineffable plan if it means going against the demon,” _ explained God.

“My lord, I can guarantee that I would…” he started, and then stopped, because he obviously knew that God could read his heart like a book, and a very open book, and not even the sort of mysterious double meaning book that are up to interpretation, but more like a children’s book that just blatantly tells you everything you need to know.

_ “And don’t get me wrong,”  _ said God, knowing that Aziraphale wouldn’t debate on that,  _ “it’s a good feeling and I might have chosen to put it in your heart from the beginning, and it might have been impossible for you not to feel it because it just wouldn’t happen any other way, but the other angels are making questions,”  _ she continued to explain.

“And making questions is all that takes,” concluded Aziraphale.

“ _ Exactly. So you have to fall.” _

“Fall?”

The words sank deep into the angel’s heart, just as deep as the angel himself sank to the ground. There were two terrible ways to be punished in heaven. One was being killed with hellfire (which hadn’t quite worked because of the genius plan he and Crowley came up with), and the other was falling. The first was usually performed by angels, and the second could only be done my God herself. It was the worst thing that could happen to a good angel. In the beginning, many angels did. Hordes of them. He was there when they started the revolution that ended so badly. They all burned all the way down. Some of them went to hell proudly, and would go a second time, head first, flipping a finger. Some of them hang to the borders of heaven trying not to fall, while their feet was pulled down with the weight of a planet. Some, like Crowley, just vaguely sauntered downwards.

And now, Aziraphale became the last angel to fall, six thousand years later, hugging a pillow and wearing unicorn pajamas.


	2. Chocolate and flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this scene with chocolate and flowers is obviously based on the scene cut from the series that Neil described, so if it's too cheesy, blame on Neil. Also, it was stuck in my head for days so I had to write it. Now it's still stuck in my head, but it's a fanfic, so okay.

There were many places on Earth that were worse than hell. It was a weird thought, you’d think. And humans didn’t know that because humans don’t come back from hell to know that it looked a lot like a public repartition with a terrible stench and workers that had to be told not to lick the walls. So humans imagined it a lot worse. So much worse that they often say they can’t describe it. But Aziraphale could describe it, and he’d call it  _ crowded and boring. _ Which was exactly how he would describe heaven as well, so no big changes here. It wasn’t a pleasant place to be, but if heaven was a nice place to be, Aziraphale wouldn’t have spent his entire life on Earth.

But hell wasn’t comfortable at all, so it wasn’t all that easy. It burned, for starters. Constantly. The ground was hot, the walls were hot, the ceiling was hot, and every surface was constantly at a temperature high enough to hurt but not enough to burn. And all that heat only made the sulfur smell even worse. It was like doing medicinal inhalation with a rotten egg.

And there was the pain as well. Aziraphale’s wings, once white and fluffy, were now black (and fluffy, because why not). They hurt quite a lot, and he didn’t know that wings could hurt. He had the impression that at least one of them was broken, but another demon promptly told him he was being a drama queen and it was alright. That he’d get used to it.

He was supposed to get used to his own eyes too, apparently. They weren’t green and shiny anymore, but rather black and opaque. His hair had the same color, but he figured it wouldn’t last forever, since he could see a few dark locks starting to mingle among the soft cotton-like blond ones.

Overall, he didn’t look all that different. This was just a body, one that he would have to change if he got inconveniently discorporated at some point, so it was merely reflecting his new self the best way it could, instead of changing him drastically. It was a lot better than walking around with a lizard on your head.

It took him awhile to find out how to go back to Earth, because apparently, no demon knew the way to the portal. No demon was interested in going there. They kept saying it was a bad place to be and that they had already done their job there and weren’t keen on going back, so they merely pointed vaguely where he should go, and each demon pointed to a different direction. Eventually, Aziraphale found his way up by himself. There was a gatekeeper, as there usually is, but otherwise, he was alone. No line to go up.

“You need to wait your turn,” said the gatekeeper, reading a comic book.

“There’s only me,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“It’s not your turn,” the man covered in red scales insisted.

“When is going to be my turn?”

“I’ll let you know,” he said, turning a page.

Aziraphale stood there, with nowhere to sit, waiting at the beginning of a non existing line. It felt like years. No sound but the turning of the pages of the comic book. And a distant cry for help coming from some lower circle. The ground was hot as usual. Everything was boring.

“What are you doing here anyway?” asked the gatekeeper, after what seemed like hours.

“At the moment, nothing. Eh, waiting my turn,” Aziraphale answered.

“No, I mean, in hell. You’re not one of us,” the demon pointed out.

“Well, I am. I’ve got the ugly eyes and the black wings and all.”

“Yes, but you’re  _ waiting _ . I told you to wait and you did. For two hours.”

“...I’m doing what you told me to do.”

“Exactly.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth a little and suddenly realized that he spent six thousand years as a terrible angel and now he was going to spend the rest of the time being a terrible demon.

“So am I supposed to just… go?”

“Well, yes, what did you think?”

Aziraphale swallowed dry and stepped forward. He had a lot to learn about being a demon. And he really didn’t want to be a demon. He didn’t want to do bad things. The world was well balanced the way it was, with the Arrangement between him and Crowley working out perfectly well, and now he’d have to do evil deed as well, which would disbalance everything. Maybe he could pretend this never happened and just carry on with his life? Maybe he didn’t even have to tell Crowley about this. He could wear some lenses for the eye and bleach any hair that would dare to turn black.

“Oi,” called the gatekeeper, while Aziraphale stepped into the portal.

“Yes?”

“If you get caught doing good stuff…” he fakely slit his throat with his big ugly nails, which actually drew a bit of blood.

He felt a shiver down his spine (it wasn’t all that unpleasant, given that it felt cold and he could use some cold weather right now) and nodded, stepping in. Next thing he remembered, he was back at the small one bedroom apartment he had rent in West End. And all around him he could feel absolutely no love. Anywhere.

“Oh, well…” he sighed, sadly, “Crowley is not going to like this.”

* * *

Crowley was doing very well, thank you very much, yelling particularly more at an specific plant. The other plants were partially grateful that the aterrorization was tones down on them, but quite concerned for the new friend.

“Grow better, you useless flower!” Crowley would yell, spraying them with water like if he was shooting them with a gun. “If you  _ dare _ not look absolutely  _ perfect _ I will burn you petal by petal” he threatened.

Never in the history of the world a flower grew so fast and so strong and so colorful. Of course that the flower couldn’t have known its destiny, nor the other plants could, but if they did, they’d envy the bright blue flower. It was going to be given to an angel.

Or so Crowley thought.

The thing is that the bookshop burned. It lasted for several decades and then it burned. For a long time after the apocalypse that didn’t happen, Aziraphale had wanted to reopen it as a library - so he wouldn’t have to sell a book anymore. He spent a year gathering books he deemed worth of his library, with Crowley appearing with one or two - or fifty - books as gifts.  _ “I happen to know a guy who took a book from Alexandria and I might’ve stolen it, so I thought you’d want it” _ .

And then, after collecting enough books, the angel was finally going to open the Library that Monday. In all honesty, Crowley hadn’t been in contact with him much lately. He knew he’d be busy preparing everything for the opening. And so he had time to yell at the stupid flower.

When Monday came, Crowley cut all the flowers and arranged them in a bouquet. The plants were quite weirded out when they were so cautiously cut in a way they wouldn’t die, and then got scared at them when Crowley threatened them not to start dying or getting ugly on the way to the Library. He wrapped them in paper and left the minimalist apartment to get in his new car - an old model dodge charger of the 70s.

Luckily, he didn’t need any gas, because that car would’ve needed a small fortune to cross Central London at 90mph.

He didn’t go straight to the library. He stopped at a candy store that was right at the corner and bought a box of mixed flavored chocolate. Aziraphale would like to try different ones, for sure. And as Crowley bought it, he told himself a few hundred times that this was a completely normal thing to do when your best friend opens a library. It was a happy day for him, so it made sense to give him gifts. No, he wasn’t being nice,  _ shut up _ . He was just… not being mean. Chocolate and flowers are  _ expected _ . It’s just something an angel would expect to receive. Right?

Right.

He went to the Library, which had been settled on the same building of the bookstore. It was renewed and refurbished. The silly angel had put a lot of effort into choosing the right decoration. _ What a stupid creature, being all careful and caring. _

Crowley lowered the flowers and frowned behind his dark glasses when he saw that the place was still closed. A quick look at his watch and he confirmed that the time was right, it should be opened. Nothing in this world would stop the angel from opening that Library, so he stormed in, breaking the doors open with a kick without hesitation.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled.

There was something wrong. The smell was all wrong. The feeling in there was...off. The lighting was darker than he remembered. Some books were still in piles, waiting to be categorized and placed in the right shelf. The whole thing just emanated the sensation of never having seen the good aura of Aziraphale.

Yet, the angel was there.

“Oh, dear, why the yelling?” Aziraphale complained, leaving the bathroom, clearly recovering from the shock of having the demon kick his way in.

He was uneasy, tense, and ridiculously trying to pretend he wasn’t avoiding eye contact.

And Crowley was ridiculously standing there with a chocolate box and some messed up flowers that had been ruined with the scare.

“Why isn’t the Library open?” he asked, holding the bouquet behind his back.

“Is it Monday already? Oh good lo….love, I lost track of time! We need to open it! Of course! I’m so silly, silly angel…” he moved past Crowley in a rush and started to pull the curtains up. He stopped at the broken door. “Well, this is already open now,” he pointed out.

Crowley was having none of this theater. Something was off. Many things were, in fact. Nothing seemed okay. Not even the angel’s clothes. He was wearing jeans.

_ Jeans _ .

Aziraphale hadn’t wore jeans for six thousand years.  _ Terrible clothing, ugh _ . He wasn’t complaining, looked great on him, just not…  _ him. _ Also, if the angel would just stop avoiding eye contact, Crowley was sure that he had noticed some change in the color of his eyes.

“Aziraphale, what happened?” he asked.

“What?”

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“No, there isn’t. I’m just… forgetting things.”

Crowley looked around to the pile of books.

“You forgot to prepare the Library for the opening day that you planned for a whole year?”

“Ah, well, I’ve been… away. I didn’t have time. Many good deeds to be done.”

“Where the  _ hell  _ have you been?”

“Exactly. I mean… here and there. Anathema. I went for a visit. Did you know Adam is gonna be thirteen this weekend?”

“Why are your eyes… not the right green?”

Aziraphale looked away quickly.

“Now what could you possibly mean by not the right green? They’re the same green as always.”

“No, they are not,” Crowley insisted, and he knew exactly what shade of green those eyes should be, “they are different. You know that.”

“I know absolutely nothing about any of these weird things you’re saying,” Aziraphale stated, his voice shaking and going slightly more effeminate, as it usually does when he loses his nerve.

“You’re lying to me, angel. I don’t know why, but you are. I can tell, I’m a demon, I know all about lies. Now tell me what is wrong.”

There was a drop of sweat from his forehead. He swallowed nervously, which made Crowley frown. The angel prepared himself in silence, battling a thousand ideas for answers in his head, and this was all very clear from Crowley’s point of view. This man was  _ suffering _ .

“What is wrong is that you are here, bothering me with your questions, when I clearly have a lot of work to catch up with. People are gonna come in here and they’ll find all this mess and you’re not letting me do things. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me, I’m the same Aziraphale of always,  _ nothing _ changed, now please, leave.”

Aziraphale’s voice went so sharp and hesitant that Crowley thought, for a moment, that he was about to cry. When he was done speaking, it was the demon who thought he’d cry. Oh, but demons don’t cry, so he didn’t, nor he answered. Not even the plants enjoyed the awkward silence that came after. Crowley put both the ruined bouquet and the chocolate box on a table and turned away to leave, without further insistence.

“You can come back some other day!” yelled Aziraphale, as he was stepping out of the door.

He refused to answer. His voice would come out too shaky for this not to me humiliating.


	3. In which angels are ducks (or popcorn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there was a very freudian explanation to why Crowley was cursing Aziraphale in his living room while drinking the angel’s favorite wine. And all he could think was how he was annoying, how his blonde-nearly-white hair was stupid and his clothes were so outdated and his smile was too ridiculously cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for the title of this chapter

“So, the problem is, this whole thing about god and the ineffable plan is all too confusing and mysterious, you see?” Aziraphale continued, “Because you can never know what’s actually good or what’s wrong, because the wrong thing might be inside the right thing and could be all just part of the plan, so it’s all right, but you cannot know, because if there’s a right thing, there has to be a wrong thing, otherwise it would be just things, so if you do the wrong thing, how can you know it’s the wrong thing and not just a wrong thing inside a right thing?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, mate.” said Adam, licking the chocolate ice cream Aziraphale had bought him in order to convince the thirteen year old to talk to him. They were in a park at Tadfield and Aziraphale could almost hear Crowley sulking in London because he disappeared again.

“Oh, bollocks. How am I supposed to know if me becoming a demon is just the right thing or it’s really something I’ve done? I’ve made far more effort to change the ineffable plan and apparently I was just dancing to the music. Now I’ve done  _ nothing _ and here I am!” he complained.

“Yeah, that sucks. What’s ineffable?” asked Adam.

“You should know better, boy, you’re the Antichrist”

“I’m thirteen,” Adam pointed out, as a matter of fact.

“Well, that doesn’t help me very much.”

“I never said I would. I told you I was thirteen and I couldn’t help you. But I don’t get it. What difference does it make if it was part of the plan or not?”.

Aziraphale looked slightly offended by that.

“It makes all the difference! I’m not a bad person, I shouldn’t have fallen! Unless I  _ am _ a bad person and I should.”.

“Well, you’re a demon now, so what does it matter? You’re supposed to be mean now,” Adam said, as the ice cream melted over his hand, “and it’s not gonna help if you keep buying ice cream to children.”

“Actually, I was thinking of just… keep going, you know? Just… pretend it didn’t happen, so Crowley won’t know. He would be devastated. He’d think it’s his fault somehow.”

“Why would it be his fault?” asked Adam “Can an angel fall because of someone else?”

“Well, Crowley’s name was mentioned during the sentence,” he remembered, tapping his legs. “But it’s not like it could be his fault.”

“You have to tell him anyway. You can’t fake it forever.”

“Yes but  _ how _ ? How am I gonna tell him this? Oh lor...satan...whatever. He’ll be so desperate. Falling was such a huge trauma for him. He didn’t quite fall, you know? He was just hanging with the wrong group. What if he doesn’t like me anymore? What if he loses interest in me? What if he sees me just like all the other demons?  _ How _ can I tell him?”

For one of those amazing coincidences of destiny - and because Tadfield is really small and has a total of one park - Anathema and Newt happened to pass by and overhear bits of Aziraphale’s demise. 

“What, he doesn’t know?” asked Anathema, taking a place to sit by Adam’s side. “Seriously? I thought you two had resolved that a while ago.”

“What? No! How would he know? And how do  _ you _ know?”

“Does anyone  _ not _ know?” asked Anathema, with such an honesty that Aziraphale couldn’t even think she was joking.

“Is it that obvious? Is it on my face? Am I giving it away?” he asked, putting both hands on his face and hair, desperately.

“Yeah you’re giving it away, mate” she laughed.

“He’s talking about being a demon now. He’s fallen,” explained Adam.

“Oh! Oh, so that explains the aura…” pondered Anathema.

“What did you think I was talking about?”

Newt and Anathema gave each other a look and raised their eyebrows.

“Nothing, mate. So… demon? You? What a terrible demon you’d be.”

“Exactly my point! I’m not supposed to be a demon, I’d be awful at it!” Aziraphale agreed.

“I don’t think they  _ chose  _ you for how good you’d be at it,” said Newt, “but because you deserved it. Isn’t that right?”

The four of them went quiet. Awkward moment. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and forces a smile. Anathema punches her boyfriend’s leg.

“I suppose Crowley needs to know anyway. It’s not gonna be reversed. And he’s my best friend, he deserves to know.”

“Yeah, well, while you’re at it… since you’ll be revealing stuff and all… how about you try to be more... _ open _ with Crowley?” Anathema suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“That you could probably be  _ very honest _ with him about… everything,” she explained, “Like… go on and say everything you hold back about him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t think it’s convenient to tell him that he has awful taste in music.”

They went all quiet once again. This time, Aziraphale was oblivious.

“I’m gonna tell him,” said Newt.

“Don’t.” said Anathema.

“Tell me what?”

“Just… go and talk to Crowley, yes? Where is he now?”

“Probably hating me for kicking him out of my Library the day it opened. He brought me chocolates and flowers and I kicked him out.”

The three made an “ouch” sound all together.

“Oh great, guys you made me feel so much better.”

“It’s not gonna help if you isolate yourself here in Tadfield, is it? You should go back as soon as possible and talk to him. He must be desolated.”

“Desolated? No, Crowley is furious. I kicked him out and then I disappeared. He must be so angry. He’s probably cursing me right now. Casting me to damnation. I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again.”

Aziraphale stood up and left the group without any other word. The three who stayed in the park remained quiet observing the ex-angel walk away hurriedly.

“You never brought me chocolate and flowers,” complained Anathema, as Newt shrank on the bench.

* * *

  
  


“Damn you angel!” Crowley yelled, swinging around the apartment with a bottle of whisky in one hand a bottle of wine in the other. He was far past drunk. A human being would be lying on the ground by now. But here he was, moving his hips like a pendulum. “I don’t need you! You want me to leave, I leave, no problem!” he screamed, one week after the argument.

Not even the scared plants believed that. Or Crowley. Crowley didn’t believe that.

The fact is that Aziraphale sent him away from the Library and then simply disappeared. It was a fucked up thing to do, but at the same time, it wasn’t something the angel would do, so Crowley was pissed off, sad and worried, all at the same time. So he drank. And he drank until he started to cry on his couch, because the alcohol had just brought up too many feelings. Specially the feeling he had when he thought Aziraphale was gone forever. That feeling was returning and burning and he was trying to drown them with a mix of fermented grapes and...whatever whisky is made of.

And crying.

Sobbing.

What an useless demon.

“Aziraphale!” he yelled, sitting on the floor, legs open.

Here’s a tiny bit of information about what is like being Crowley: it gets  _ lonely _ . So painfully lonely. The kind of lonely where the time ticks slowly and everything is silent and you need to scream in order to believe there’s  _ anything _ out there, even if it’s your own voice.

Wow, this got quite dark.

Angels aren’t supposed to be lonely. They were created in flocks. And they are a lot like ducks. Keep up with me for this. Angels were like ducks, not in terms of how water slides off their bodies, but in terms of love. A duck will come out of his egg, look around, and the first thing it sees is its mother, and this duck will love its mother for as long as possible, and follow them around with his other brothers and sisters. An angel, upon creation, would do pretty much the same. They look to their creator and they  _ love _ . And they look around and they see thousands of their brothers and sisters and they  _ love _ them. They are made of love. An angel cannot be alone, because being alone means having nothing to love. And so they lose their whole purpose, their essence, and it  _ hurts _ .

But hey, Crowley is not an angel, he’s a demon, right?

Well, Lucifer wouldn’t have rebelled if his fellow brothers and sisters hadn’t rebelled with him. Even Lucifer wouldn’t dare be cast to damnation without company. And here’s the catch: love is not hate, but hate  _ is _ love.

The forces of hell would be a lot more apathetic and harmless if they were loveless. Lack of love is not hatred, lack of love is indifference. If you so spend your energy and time on hating your ex, there might be a good Freudian explanation for that.

And there was a very Freudian explanation to why Crowley was cursing Aziraphale in his living room while drinking the angel’s favorite wine. And all he could think was how he was annoying, how his blonde-nearly-white hair was stupid and his clothes were so outdated and his smile was too ridiculously cute.

“Aziraphale! I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you, you stupid angel!”

Freud would nod to that. He’d take a sheet of paper and ask about Crowley’s parents.

Now, Crowley was very lonely.

When the demons rebelled, they also rebelled in flocks. Hordes.

They kept good track of which duque of hell they had to obey first. They were split in groups. They had friends, sort of. And they were all moved by the same feeling: the hatred for heaven and disgust for Earth. So, in a way, the demons were a group, and they felt like they were a group, and they relied on each other as a group, because they loved to hate the creation. And they were doing all that together, the same way the angels were together loving everything. It was passion, and it was in their nature not to be alone.

But Crowley doesn’t hate heaven. Or hell. Or the Earth. He loves the Earth and couldn’t care less about the other two. Maybe with a tiny hint of grudges for both sides, but if they’d blow up today, he would just go and keep up with his life. There was no one sharing this love with him. No one who understood him, no one for him to be with. He was the only demon to love humans and to walk the Earth with that feeling inside of him. No one else would understand.

Except Aziraphale.

So it gets lonely. Painfully so. The mere idea of losing his best friend sparks fear through his body. The feeling is absolutely unbearable, and there’s only one way to put it into words.

Let’s say you’re an angel. I know, weird. But think of it. You’re made of love. A huge amount of love compacted in a material body. And you are made of an specific and unchangeable amount of love. It doesn’t grow and it doesn’t fade. All this love is equally split to all your fellow angels. And there are thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. But it’s okay, because you love them all so much you could die for each of them, and you know they all love you with the same intensity. When you lose a friend - for hellfire or because they rebelled - your love for your other friends gets bigger, because there are less of them to love, and your love stayed the same size.

Now imagine your fellow angels were exploding.

Sorry.

One by one. Not with a huge and ugly burst, but just  _ popping  _ (don’t pay too much attention to how they explode, it’s not important, it’s just so you don’t start imagining a genocide with blood and guts). They are there, and then they aren’t.  _ Pop _ and they are gone. So your love for the ones that are left increases, because there are less of them and the amount of love you can share stays the same. Simple math. And  _ pop _ , another one goes, love goes up.  _ Pop _ and an entire squad of angels disappears. Suddenly, it’s like heaven is a popcorn pan.  _ Pop pop pop pop _ they all go.

Until there’s only one left. And your love stays exactly as big as it was in the beginning, but it belongs only to this one angel that is left.

That’s how much Crowley  _ hated _ Aziraphale.

Freud would wink at that.

And Aziraphale wasn’t here. Aziraphale told him to leave. Lied to him. Changed. There was something wrong with him, and Crowley didn’t know what.

Now, it’s only obvious that Crowley’s love went solely to Aziraphale for six thousands years, because that’s for how long the demon has felt like the angel was all he had in terms of belonging to a group. A group of two.

“Please come back,” Crowley whispered, drunk, under his breath, and not even the plants heard, “just please.”

_ “Crowley” _

Crowley jolt up at the sound coming from his answering machine. His heart missed a beat, but it was useless. It definitely wasn’t Aziraphale.

“I thought I had told you all to leave me alone,” Crowley said, bitterly, at the demon communicating with him.

“ _ I don’t wanna speak to you. I wanna speak to your friend Aziraphale” _

“Well, you’re not lucky today, for I have no friend called Aziraphale,” Crowley pouted, “and what could you possibly want with him?”

“ _ He owes us explanation. He’s terrible. He sucks at the job. Even more than you. He is making prank calls and calling it evil deeds. And he apologizes before turning off.” _

Crowley didn’t know if it was the wine or the whisky, but he was definitely very confused.

“Sorry, what? Aziraphale is doing what? He’s an angel, he doesn’t do evil,” he said, pausing for a moment, not intentionally.”.

_ “Angel? You haven’t even been informed? Aziraphale has fallen. Catch up with the news, Crowley. For Satan, you suck as well.” _

With that, the answering machine went mute. And so did Crowley.


	4. Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't

Aziraphale was slightly concerned about the dark lock of hair appearing among the blonde ones. It was pretty clear by now that not his whole hair was going dark. But it was hard to hide, as the bleaching was making the entire thing get a few tones lighter.

What worried him the most, though, was the eyes. They had been bright green for six millenniums. Now they were like dark holes, pitch black. Not the whole thing, just the irises, thankfully. He wasn’t sure who to thank, but he thanked whoever kept his eyes at least remotely normal. Although black eyes weren’t unusual, the shade of Aziraphale’s new ones just sparked confusion. It lacked  _ any _ color or brightness. Light could well be being sucked into them.

And there was no contact lenses that would match his old eye color. Even the ones that approached the most would somehow get just a tiny little bit darker when put over his pupil. It ached when he remembered that Crowley noticed the difference, when the ex-angel himself had to double check in the mirror.

Crowley.

He didn’t know why, but lately, the demon was all he was thinking of. No, seriously, of course he was feeling guilty for the way he pushed Crowley out of the Library, of course he was immensely worried about how he’d perceive his transformation. It’s only obvious he’d think of Crowley a lot. But still, it was different.

Aziraphale still had heaven by his side this whole time. It was a long process to lose his faith in the ethereal and what’s good and what’s evil, or to love the humans, in order for Aziraphale to feel connected to Crowley. Now he had no one else.

So it’s not that he was focusing his thoughts on the demon. It’s that the demon was pretty much all that was left for him him to think about.

It wasn’t entirely bad to think of him, though. It was covering all the bad thoughts he could be having about being a demon.

And they were there, oh they were. Hidden inside his skull, under his locks. Perhaps, if you’d look into those holy eyes, you’d see the ex-angel crouched and hugging himself for some form of comfort, hidden inside all that darkness. He couldn’t feel love anymore. Not his own love towards others, that was still there, but love  _ in the air _ . When he was speaking to Anathema and Newt, no trace of their love could be felt. Nor the love of Adam for the city. He lost one of his senses and was missing it like a person who goes blind.

Oh no, now he was thinking of it.

He was in the Library. It had officially opened now. He thought of going straight to Crowley and apologizing, but he cowarded out in the last moment. Instead, he went back home and put a “open” sign at the door. Maybe being among books and book lovers would help him relax.

It really didn’t.

To begin with, a demon appeared and asked what evil deeds he had been doing, so Aziraphale started making prank calls to catch up with that. But he felt terrible and apologized every single time. When another demon showed up, he hid in the bathroom until he left.

Aziraphale had no idea of what to do. Which of his fears should he face first?

And not knowing, he made a decision: he’d buy clothes.

The jeans really wasn’t working for him. Made him look like a middle aged man trying to look cool. The pastel colored clothes also didn’t seem that interesting anymore. But black would be too much. So he went for a gray suit. Well tailored, with a perfectly white shirt and a coat that matched the new grizzled hair. And so, looking like a successful businessman, Aziraphale managed to go back to the Library and cry in the bathroom. But at least he looked cool while doing so.

He closed the Library when he remembered it existed. It was 10 past 9. He considered going to Crowley’s house, and even rehearsed in front of the mirror all the things he’d tell him.

But the demon hadn’t been in touch since that day. He hadn’t called or tried to reach him. Maybe he did hate Aziraphale for that after all. Crowley never takes so long to get in touch. And perhaps it’s for the best. He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever sees disgust in the demon’s eyes towards him. Let him hate him, let there be this feeling, instead of Crowley just deciding he was just another demon that didn’t need any attention and replaces the hate for indifference. Because that would be too much for Aziraphale.

That was when he heard Crowley screaming from the street.

* * *

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck so many fucks. Aziraphale was a demon. A demon! Aziraphale. Crowley’s best description of how an angel should be was now a demon.

Fuck.

“FUCK!” he yelled, throwing the whisky jar on the wall. It smashed into a million pieces, just like Crowley’s heart.

Awwwn.

How? How did that happen? It’s been six thousand years! Heaven doesn’t do that anymore, do they? They don’t! No more angels have fallen since before Eden! What could Aziraphale have done to cause such a thing? He wouldn’t harm an ant if that ant was the cause of the holocaust. Sure, God not always had a comprehensible reason for making an angel fall - and honestly, to Crowley, sometimes he saw God as an annoying cat that just decides to push random objects off the table while looking you in the eye and daring you to stop him.

But six thousand years without that happening and suddenly…

“It was me, wasn’t it? That’s why he was angry at me.”

If the plants had faces and hands, they’d facepalm right now.

It all made perfect sense, though. He tempted and influenced Aziraphale all these years. It had been centuries making the angel do evil things in his place while he was doing good things for him, just to save time. The Arrangement sounded like an incredible idea and kept the world balanced, but damn, it was an angel doing the work of a demon! So of course he’d fall, of course…

Because of him. Crowley caused his fall. Aziraphale never wanted any of this, and still, he made him do it. He was right to hate him. He had hated the group of angels he hanged with and caused him to fall. He still did. But now it felt better, because he had already killed the five of them with holy water.

Maybe that’s what Aziraphale wanted to do to him.

Or maybe the wine was bouncing in his head making him look very sad and shocked, with a hand over his mouth, and unable to think straight.

Probably both.

“Six bloody thousand fucking years and no one even cares to check. No one checks. No one!” Crowley said to no one but himself. “Oh, what am I saying? I’m just bargaining my guilt. That’s it. He hates me. And I can’t even blame him. Stupid angel. Demon. Ah, whatever.”

The group of angels who caused Crowley’s fall had been the target of his worst feelings for over a thousand years. They lied to him once and got him where he shouldn’t be, literally sauntering downwards. Upon being scolded, Crowley questioned God’s reasons, and that was all it took. Then, in 900bc, he took his revenge and rested his thoughts on the deformed jam that the demons had become. He hated them. He hated them so much. He kept thinking about how he wanted to take revenge until he did, and only then he stopped dreaming about them. The idea that Aziraphale could be thinking about him on the same terms  _ right now _ was hurting more than holy water injected to his veins. 

He rested his back on a wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Of all the angels that were  _ popping _ out of existence, for Crowley Aziraphale was the last one remaining, and he had just suddenly gone as well. And the demon was left with no one around.

Damn, it gets lonely being Crowley. He really didn’t want to be Crowley anymore. The line of thought it very simple. When angels have nothing to love, they lose their sense of purpose. If he couldn’t love (or hate) Aziraphale, Crowley saw no meaning in existence. It’s not even about that specific ethereal or occult being, but rather logical. When the Earth was about to become a puddle of radioactive goo, Crowley chose to leave with the angel instead of staying or leaving alone, because being alone in Alpha Centauri was even worse than being… well, dead.

But this is getting way too dark, so let’s skip the self mourning and the three bottles of whisky that came next and go straight to the part where Crowley decides he has nothing to lose and goes to the Library drunk as a skunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go


	5. birds do it, even educated fleas do it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's do it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's fall in love

“Aziraphale!” he heard, making him sit up straight on his chair before standing up and run to the door. Before he could even open it, Crowley went on, “Aziraphale, please! I know you probably don’t wanna talk to me ever again but please, let me just…”

Crowley looked very surprised and drunk when he opened.

“That was quick. Anyway. Aziraphale, you have to listen to me!” he yelled, in the middle of the street, falling on his knees and putting his hands together, barely being able to stay up.

“I’m listening. In fact, the whole street is,” he pointed out.

“Damn, nice clothes.”

“Thank you,” the ex-angel smiled, “now get in before heaven and hell come to see what’s happening.”

“You’ll let me in?” his voice failed for a moment there.

“Oh, dear! Do come in, please.”

He pulled Crowley from the sidewalk, trying to stabilize him, but the demon nearly stumbled on his own feet anyway. He grabbed onto Aziraphale like his life depended on it, and the alcohol seemed to make him weep without even noticing. People were watching the scene and shaking their heads. A pedestrian even passed by saying “he’s not worth it, love”, to which Crowley answered by turning around and threatening to send him to hell. He then proceeded to lose balance and would’ve stopped face first on the pavement if Aziraphale hadn’t hold him.

“My dear, you’re gonna fall if you keep moving, stop it and let me help you,” said Aziraphale.

“Fall! Yes, that’s my point, you… you fell, and… I didn’t meant to…”

“Oh dear.”

He knew.

He finally dragged Crowley’s drunk ass inside the Library. The few people there looked very scared when the demon was dropped on the couch. Aziraphale clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention, as if he didn’t have it yet, and gave them a nervous smile.

“Hi everyone, I need you to go now,” he started. “Family problems. Might get ugly. We’ll be open tomorrow as usual. Yes, thank you. No, you can’t take the book home.”

“Yes, everyone, leave!” yelled Crowley, sounding like a child trying to speak with the mouth full of candy, “Oh, no… you told me to leave and now I’ve made myself sad.” He curled on the couch and hid his face on a cushion while the ex-angel locked the door after everyone was gone.

“Crowley, put yourself together,” demanded Aziraphale, turning around. However, his voice wasn’t very demanding. It was rather weak and scared. But he did make an effort, and to be honest, Crowley had enough alcohol in his system not to notice how his voice got halfway stuck in his throat.

“Listen to me, angel. Fallen angel. Listen... “ he straightened his back and lifted a finger, “I didn’t think the Arrangement would… get us here. You. I’m already here. Was, I was already here. Down there. I didn’t think it would…”

“Crowley, sober up now, please,” asked Aziraphale.

“No, can’t do.”

“Of course you can!”

“Nope. Noooope,” the demon crossed his arms in front of his chest, pouting. “Can’t sober up. I don’t wanna deal with this sober.”

“Well, I can’t deal with this while you’re drunk. Sober up, Crowley.”

The demon pouted again and held the arm of the sofa while shutting his eyes on a disgusted frown as the liters of wine and whisky left his body and were sent back to the bottles that were scattered all over his house. He’d have a bad surprise back home seeing that many of these bottles were fallen on the floor and now were leaking their content all over the very white carpet.

Looking a hell lot better, Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and inhaled before looking away in shame.

“What I meant to say…” the demon began, “is that I had no idea that the Arrangement could make you fall. I would never… I could  _ never _ propose such a thing if I had any idea that this could happen. I wouldn’t… I mean, this is not…” he stuttered, stopping himself. “And believe me when I say that…”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted.

“No, let me finish,” begged Crowley, standing up, “or I’ll just never say it. Believe me, I understand you hate me now. I hated everyone involved in my fall. Hell, I killed all of them,”

“Crowley!” he interrupted again, this time quite offended.

“I know, okay? I know how it feels. I know what is like to wake up in hell and you never wanted to be there, and I know that, from all the angels, you should be the last one to fall, and I know I insisted a thousand times for the Arrangement and you didn’t even want it, but…”

“Crowley, would you just stop for a moment?” he asked, his voice getting weaker and his eyes wet.

“And I could never cause you that intentionally because there’s no one else in this whole  _ Universe _ that I care  _ nearly _ as much as you,” he said, moving his arms in a circle in the air to make his point of how big the universe was. “Not even when you put all things together. The entire  _ planet _ isn’t worth as much. And you needed to know this before you stop talking to me because it would’ve killed me not to say. You’re the only one that matters and I fucked up big time, so...”

“Crowley, it wasn’t your fault,” Aziraphale managed to blurt out, before the demon could continue on speaking nonstop.

Crowley lost his balance almost like if he was still drunk.

“What?”

“It wasn’t. The reason I fell is… so that the other angels would shut up,” he summed up, sighing and releasing the weight from his shoulders, “because apparently, they were asking too many questions.”

“Well, then  _ they _ should fall.”

“But  _ we _ were the ones to question it. We questioned it rightfully, and the apocalypse wasn’t the actual plan after all, but now the angels are wondering why I wasn’t punished, and to add to that, apparently I cannot be trusted around you.”

Crowley was nowhere near understanding where Aziraphale was going with this. Anathema would’ve laughed.

“God assumes I will choose you over Her,” he explained, pressing one hand against the other, “so She doesn’t trust me around you. Ineffable plan protection, that’s why I fell. I can’t tell yet if I really did something wrong or if this all part of the theater, but… yeah.”

Crowley was just staring now, mouth open, like a statue, processing the whole thing.

“She mentioned  _ me?” _ he asked, keeping nearly that same expression.

“Well, yes, but it’s not like it was up to you how I felt. It’s because of how I feel, not something you did. She even mentioned that the Arrangement wouldn’t have caused me to fall.”

Crowley shut his mouth and straightened his back. There was a suave change of his stance as he started moving his feet dismissively, pretending like he hadn’t just had a huge breakdown. Unfortunately for this very sad demon, the tears were still on his face making his whole posture a lot less convincing.

“You would choose  _ me _ over God?” he asked, nonchalantly.

“That’s what She said. And She has to know things.”

“Well…” he started, casually wiping the tears from his face, “then why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why did you disappear?”

“I am a coward,” Aziraphale admitted, letting his weight fall on the couch, with a desolated expression on his face. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d react like this, and I was scared you’d lose interest on me.”

“What?” open mouthed shocked Crowley returned. He hurried to move towards Aziraphale, sitting by his side, both hands reaching his shoulders. “How could you think that?”

“Well, you hate the other demons. You don’t care about them.”

“I hate all the other angels too, what are you talking about, this is ridiculous, why would I not like you just because your wings are black and you dress accordingly to the century?”

“Really?” his eyes widened and he turned his whole body towards Crowley, “You don’t like me any less?”

“You’re way too smart for the stupid things you say, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale pouted. Crowley took his hands. He was shaking. Six thousand years they knew each other. During all that time, the demon hadn’t changed, if you think about it. The snake of Eden had been rebellious from start to finish, daring to be against absolutely everything, from God to Satan, from heaven to hell. He’d be lifting his finger at any faith they impose. You want me to hate humanity? Yeah, no, thanks. You want me to hate all the angels? Why bother, this one looks interesting. You want me to do evil things? Sure thing, I’ll create some misfortunes, and keep it that way, just so I can survive and continue going to good restaurants and have all the fun in the world. Six thousand years without changing, and now, that little thing, the fact that Aziraphale was a demon now, it changed something in his head. In fact, two things changed.

The first one, Aziraphale looked very sexy in that suit, rather than cute.

The second one, he knew that he wasn’t around Aziraphale because he missed being an angel that loved other angels. He knew, from the moment he found out about his fall, that he was around Aziraphale because he was Aziraphale. He wasn’t there just because he was the last angel standing. The last thing he had to love. He  _ wasn’t  _ here, holding his hand, because he needed to love something,  _ anything _ , and because all the others angels just ‘popped’ away.

He was here, holding Aziraphale’s hand because it was Aziraphale’s hand. Human, angel or demon, it was Aziraphale. And if he’d ever lose him, it wouldn’t be like an angel popping and having no one left to love. It wouldn’t be Crowley sitting alone with nothing to love, because even if all those other angels would come back (dis-popping), even if the hundreds of thousands of angels would start reappearing, he’d still miss  _ Aziraphale. _

Oh man, that brought tears back to his eyes.

Which would make some people jump to the conclusion that, maybe, just maybe, Crowley was in love with that ex-angel.

But that would be just silly, right?

“Aziraphale, I love you.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Aziraphale stopped breathing (and so did I).

“If that wasn’t clear for you before,” he added, stuttering.

Aziraphale kept looking at him with his mouth slightly open, with literally no reaction at all. He wasn’t even breathing.

“Yeah, can we drink something?” Crowley asked, trying to get any reaction from the guy.

“Crowley!”

“You can’t say your side wouldn’t approve,” he said, quickly, before any other word would come out from his mouth.

“Fuck both sides,” Aziraphale said, and then widened his eyes at his own choice of words, “you can’t just say something like that when we’re concerned about other things!”

“Well, how am I supposed to do it then!?”

“Take me to dinner first!”

“I’ve been taking you out to dinner for 6 thousands years, angel!”

Aziraphale frowned.

“Not an angel.”

“Oh, no, that was, like… flirting thing. Angel, you know? Like in ‘how are you doing, angel’ when you say that to a human.”

“It wasn’t,” Aziraphale doubted.

“Well, it wasn’t, but I’m getting used to it, okay? You’re a terrible demon anyway.”

“I am, yes. But you are too,” he replied, “and you know what? I think I understood what it means.”

Now, Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, had changed a lot since he was first introduced. He was a loyal angel of the Lord. And even before, he was a lean, powerful, fighting machine, as Gabriel would’ve quoted. But no one cares about Gabriel, so skip to when he was a cute little principality angel, guarding the East Gate of the Garden of Eden, eating fruits around the place and thinking of anything but fighting. The sword, admittedly, didn’t match his personality much. Albeit he could fight very well, and knew how to use it, there was an entire universe of things he’d prefer doing before using that sword. He was something that the angels just can’t be: pacific and conflicted.

There had been a rebellion, and you don’t need pacific conflicted beings when there’s a war in your backyard. So after a) losing his sword, b) letting the snake tempt the humans on his shift of tree duty and c) being pacific, Aziraphale was forced to work where no other angels wanted to work: the Earth.

But he didn’t go down to Earth alone. He went to Earth with a seed. The seed of doubt. Crowley didn’t only tempt the humans with the idea of good or evil, he also tempted Aziraphale, even if he didn’t know it. And the seed grew for six thousand years until it became the tree of wisdom. When they saved the world from apocalypse, it was as if Aziraphale bit down on that forbidden fruit, and there was no turning back. The angels were somewhat mean, and it seemed like they really didn’t like humans after all, did they? Always thinking of fighting the demons and letting humanity just go to shit. Both sides just looked the same. Opposite sides of a coin that was rigged to land always on the heaven side. Of course he’d be expelled from Heaven, like the humans were expelled from Eden. Of course! Now he knew.

He knew that there was this thing that humans do that is much better than any demon or angel. He knew that, after all, humans were a bit of both, living their short lives and making it worth of their time. Eating, sleeping, driving, going on vacations, meeting people, laughing at jokes, going to the park, drinking alcohol and falling in love.

And he didn’t need to be an angel to do any of these things. So it was okay. It was okay that he was a demon. It didn’t really matter. What really,  _ really _ matters, at the end of the day, is that there’s a table at Ritz waiting for them, where they’ll drink wine and then go black to Crowley’s place, and if anyone disagrees, they didn’t get this whole ineffable thing at all.

The humans had to be tempted, the apocalypse had to be stopped, the love had to win over fundamentalism from either heaven or hell. And these two absolute idiots had to be together at the end.

These two got it. They got it right. It took them six thousand years, but they finally understood. And hopefully, they’d be among humans enough so that they’d understand as well.

_ With love, God. _

_ PS: okay, they fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end of it. Yes, I'm God. The book was written in a way that implies that God is the narrator, and I tried to fallow the book as much as I could. Thank you so much for reading and leaving me a review, it's been ages since I don't put an effort into fanfic. Ah, the title of the chapter is a song - in case someone misses that (?? might happen???)


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